TALENT BEYOND LIMIT: Stacking Many Talents

Spring announced itself through mud.

For three days, Blackwood’s streets became worse than they had been under snow.

Water ran from rooftops.

Cartwheels cut deep channels through softened roads.

Merchants complained.

Children celebrated.

Then the eastern route reopened.

Joe learned about it from a notice outside the merchant office.

ASHBOURNE STATE CAPITAL CARAVAN: DEPARTURE IN TWENTY-THREE DAYS

Route: Blackwood → Stonegate City → Ashbourne City

Scheduled transit: One-night resupply at Stonegate

Estimated travel: Seventeen to twenty-two days in normal spring conditions

Eight freight wagons. Two passenger wagons. Independent travelers permitted after inspection. Two senior martial supervisors. Hired route guards.

At the bottom were the passage rates.

Joe read them twice.

He entered the merchant’s office.

“How does passage work?”

The clerk looked up.

“Traveling all the way to Ashbourne?”

“Yes.”

“Follower permit is eight silver. You provide your own mount or walk, carry your own food, and camp with the convoy. Guards protect the caravan as a whole, not individual followers.”

“And passenger?”

“Twenty-four silver. Wagon seat, ordinary ration, luggage allowance and camp space.”

Joe glanced toward the final rate.

“Protected passage?”

“Forty-eight.”

“What changes?”

“You travel inside the protected section through dangerous stretches. Assigned headcount, priority regrouping, guard coverage if the formation breaks.”

Joe looked again at the route.

Stonegate meant little to him beyond the name. The Greyspine roads beyond it had a worse reputation. Traders occasionally disappeared there, and even large caravans preferred traveling in numbers.

“How dangerous?”

The clerk shrugged.

“Most journeys arrive.”

Joe waited.

The man smiled.

“You asked how dangerous, not whether the road works.”

Fair.

“Near Ashbourne?”

“Much easier. More patrols, more settlements, more traffic. Greyspine is the troublesome part.”

Joe considered the prices.

Twenty-four silver was already close to a month’s ordinary guard income.

Forty-eight bought protection Joe did not actually need.

“Standard passenger.”

The clerk slid over the registration sheet.

“Food included?”

“Basic caravan ration.”

“And additional cargo?”

“Charged by weight.”

Joe paid the twenty-four silver.

The clerk handed him a small wooden travel token stamped with the caravan master’s mark and a number for the second passenger wagon.

“Keep that. We stop at Stonegate whether you’re awake or not. If you decide you want protected passage before Greyspine, pay the difference before we leave Stonegate.”

Joe slipped the token into his pocket.

“I’ll remember.”

When he stepped outside again, Blackwood felt different.

Twenty-three days.

For the first time, leaving had a date.

-----------

Simon reacted exactly as expected.

“You booked it already?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t ask me?”

Joe looked at him.

“For permission?”

“No.”

Simon frowned.

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

Mira sat at the other side of the table and wisely remained silent.

Joe poured tea.

“The caravan leaves in twenty-three days.”

Simon stared at him.

That number affected him too.

“You could take the next one.”

“I could.”

“Or the one after.”

“Yes.”

Simon became more irritated.

“Stop agreeing with everything.”

Joe smiled.

Mira finally intervened.

“He’s going, Simon.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I know.”

That was the problem.

Simon looked around the room.

The sealed Black-family Bone inheritance rested elsewhere in the house.

His wife sat beside him.

His uniform hung near the door.

Pam, Mike, Lily, Joseph and Mary were only a journey west.

Simon had built reasons to remain.

Joe had spent several years building the opposite.

“You’re going alone?”

“Yes.”

“Edwin isn’t sending people?”

“No.”

“Black-family caravan?”

“No.”

“Guard escort?”

“The caravan has hired guards.”

Simon looked offended by the entire concept of commercial transportation.

Joe drank his tea.

“I have traveled before.”

“To Blackwood. With me.”

“I survived.”

“Because I was there.”

Joe raised an eyebrow.

Mira laughed.

Simon pointed toward her.

“You’re supposed to support me.”

“I do. Usually when you’re correct.”

Joe liked marriage more every month.

-------------

The guard resignation was easier.

Tomas read the notice.

“Still twenty-three days?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve counted.”

“Yes.”

Tomas signed the first page.

“You’ll remain active through the end of the current duty cycle. Last seven days can be preparation leave.”

“Thank you.”

The offer for the senior medical-support position remained on Tomas’s desk.

He looked at it.

Then at Joe.

“Last chance.”

Joe smiled.

“There it is,” Tomas said.

“What?”

“The face.”

Joe still did not know what refusal face Tomas believed he had.

“I appreciate the offer.”

“Which means no.”

“Yes.”

Tomas signed the final page.

“State capital eats confident young men.”

“So does the western forest.”

“Fair.”

He returned the papers.

“You were useful here.”

Joe took them.

That meant more than praise would have.

“So was the guard.”

Tomas snorted.

“Go before this becomes sentimental.”

Joe did.

------------

The medicine workshop required more paperwork than the guard.

Joe kept his ownership share.

There was no reason to sell a profitable business merely because he was changing cities.

The manager would continue recording monthly accounts, with Joe’s distributions accumulated until they could be sent through trusted merchant channels or transferred through Edwin’s growing capital operation.

“Edwin will eventually try to absorb us,” the manager said.

“Probably.”

“You’ll stop him?”

“If it’s profitable, why?”

The man stared.

Joe smiled.

“Keep the books clean.”

“That I can do.”

It gave Joe something valuable beyond silver.

Continuity.

His income would not disappear the moment he passed through Blackwood’s eastern gate.

------------

Theodere was even simpler.

Joe brought up the old agreement after evening training.

Theo waved him toward the contract chest.

“Read it.”

Joe did.

The original supported training term had already been fulfilled.

The Hall’s basic instruction, food support and early cultivation assistance had never been designed to bind a child indefinitely. Later lessons continued because Theo wanted to teach and Joe wanted to learn.

Nothing prevented departure.

Joe closed the document.

“No payment?”

Theo looked offended.

“For what?”

“Leaving.”

“You fulfilled your term.”

Joe nodded.

Theo leaned back.

“You expected me to invent a debt because you’re useful?”

“No.”

“Good.”

A pause.

“Would’ve been insulting.”

Joe almost smiled.

Theo studied him.

“Capital?”

“Yes.”

“Root test?”

“Yes.”

“Then martial information.”

“Yes.”

“Then trouble.”

“Probably.”

Theo sighed.

“You really have learned from me.”

Joe did smile then.

-------------

Before leaving Blackwood, Joe went west.

He took four days of accumulated leave and joined a medicine cart traveling toward Green Hollow.

The village appeared beneath a pale spring sky almost exactly as he remembered it.

Almost.

The road seemed narrower.

The houses smaller.

The distance from the river to his family’s fields shorter than childhood memory insisted.

Nothing had actually shrunk.

Joe had changed the scale by which he measured it.

Six strips of farmland still stretched behind the house.

Mike was repairing a boundary ridge when Joe approached.

His father straightened.

For a moment, Mike simply stared.

Then:

“You didn’t write.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Your mother hates surprises.”

Joe looked toward the house.

Lily was already coming outside.

“I know.”

------------

She hugged him before asking questions.

Then immediately began asking them.

Was Simon well?

Was Mira well?

Had Mary behaved in Blackwood?

Was Joe eating enough?

Why was he thinner?

Joe stopped trying to dispute the last one years ago.

Joseph came from behind the house.

Pam shouted from inside that nobody had told her Joe was coming.

Mary emerged last.

“You’re early.”

“For what?”

She shrugged.

“Whatever you’re doing.”

Joe looked at her.

They ate before he explained.

That was Lily’s condition.

No important conversation while traveling hungry.

Joe accepted the rule.

---------

“The state capital?”

Mike repeated the words slowly.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Eighteen days.”

Five had already passed since booking.

Lily stopped eating.

“That soon?”

“Yes.”

Pam looked toward Joseph.

Joseph looked toward Mike.

Mary watched Joe.

Nobody seemed surprised by the destination.

Only the date.

Mike eventually asked the practical question.

“How much money do you have?”

Joe smiled.

His father noticed.

“Enough?”

“Enough to reach it without depending on someone.”

Mike nodded.

That answer satisfied him more than an exact number would have.

“Work?”

“I have medicine experience. My workshop share continues. Edwin is already there.”

“Living with him?”

“Probably briefly if useful. I can afford not to.”

Another nod.

Mike understood that too.

Lily did not care about any of those answers.

“When are you coming back?”

Joe could have said summer.

Harvest.

Next year.

Something comfortable.

Instead:

“I don’t know.”

The room became quiet.

Mary looked down.

Lily stared at him.

“Not even for the Harvest Festival?”

“If I can.”

“That means no.”

“It means I don’t know.”

Joe did not soften it further.

The capital was not intended to be a short visit.

He wanted Root testing.

Martial knowledge.

Medicine markets.

Internal Organ information.

Whatever road appeared after that.

Promising a return date would only convert uncertainty into a future broken promise.

Lily eventually sighed.

“You were easier at six.”

Joe doubted that.

Past Life Memory at six had probably made him deeply strange.

He wisely said nothing.

-----------

Joseph asked later, when the two walked along the fields.

“Blackwood too small?”

“No.”

“Then why leave?”

Joe considered.

Blackwood had given him more than he could reasonably have expected.

Calling it small would be ungrateful.

“The next things I need aren’t there.”

Joseph nodded.

That answer fit village logic surprisingly well.

If one field lacked water, you walked to another.

If Green Hollow lacked a smith for certain work, people traveled.

If Blackwood lacked the next part of Joe’s road, he traveled farther.

“Simon staying?”

“Yes.”

“With the wife.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

They walked several more steps.

Joseph looked toward the house.

“One stays. One goes.”

Joe glanced at him.

“You dislike that?”

“No.”

Joseph shrugged.

“Would be strange if all children wanted the same road.”

Simple.

Joe stored that sentence.

-----------

Mary found him that evening.

“You’re really leaving.”

“Yes.”

She sat beside him on the low wall.

“Simon thinks you can do everything.”

Joe looked at her.

“That sounds unlike Simon.”

“He complains while thinking it.”

More believable.

Mary picked at a loose piece of mortar.

“After Bret…”

She stopped.

Joe waited.

“Simon came because Teren found him.”

“Yes.”

“And you came because they found you.”

“Yes.”

“If something happens when you’re in the capital?”

Joe understood.

Not concern for him.

Concern about the family not having him nearby.

“Simon is here.”

“He can’t do what you do.”

Joe looked toward the fields.

That was more perceptive than he preferred.

“He doesn’t need to.”

Mary frowned.

Joe continued.

“He has Mira. The guard. The Black family. Mutual Help. A house. People who know him.”

He looked at her.

“You saw what happened with Bret. Teren noticed because Simon had spent years building relationships.”

Mary became quiet.

Joe added, “One strong person isn’t the only kind of protection.”

That seemed to help.

It was also true.

-----------

Joe returned to Blackwood three days later carrying far too much food.

Lily had packed enough for half the state-capital journey despite Joe repeatedly explaining the caravan included meals.

Pam had contributed dried fruit.

Mike had given him a small tool knife.

Joseph had given advice that mostly involved distrusting anyone who smiled before naming a price.

Mary had given him nothing.

At the gate, she simply hugged him and said:

“Write.”

Joe promised he would.

That promise he could keep.

-----------

Fourteen days remained.

Simon helped him sort his possessions.

Most stayed.

Joe owned surprisingly little.

Several sets of clothing. Medicine tools. Personal notes that contained nothing dangerous. Basic supplies. Money divided rather than kept in one place.

No secret cultivation journal existed to destroy because Joe had never been foolish enough to create one.

Simon held up an old shirt.

“This?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It barely fits.”

“You could give it to me.”

“You’re larger than I am.”

Simon examined it.

“Mary?”

“No.”

Mira took it from him.

“Rags.”

Simon looked wounded.

Joe agreed with Mira.

By evening, four years of life in Blackwood had been reduced to what fit into travel luggage.

Simon looked at the bags.

“That’s it?”

Joe looked too.

Apparently.

Simon needed a house for the life he was building.

Joe needed one place on a caravan.

Neither seemed wrong.

On the table beside the bags rested the wooden travel token.

Fourteen days.

For the first time since arriving in Blackwood at fourteen, Joe knew exactly when he was leaving.